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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29052759">you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars (but i am not yours)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenaway_lewis/pseuds/greenaway_lewis'>greenaway_lewis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>maybe we’re from the same star [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Emily Prentiss Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt, F/F, Hurt No Comfort, Lesbian Emily Prentiss, Metaphors, POV Second Person, Pining, Sad Ending, Unrequited Love, alcohol mention, no beta we die like cowards, spoilers up to season 9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:07:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,057</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29052759</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenaway_lewis/pseuds/greenaway_lewis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Penelope has no faults, anything one might consider a flaw is part of the artwork. As if, an imperfect star is not just as gorgeous as the perfect ones. As if they do not shine as brightly. Maybe you like the imperfect star more than the perfect ones. You were never perfect, but your imperfection is different than hers, yours is a splotch of dark black on a portrait of what could have been something good, but is not. The two of you contrast like the sun does the deep dark night. Except the night is beautiful. Except the night is loved."</p><p>Or, an unrequited love fic</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>One Sided - Relationship, Penelope Garcia/Emily Prentiss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>maybe we’re from the same star [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069676</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars (but i am not yours)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Unlike the rest of this series, this is not a happy fic, trigger warning for minor mentions of alcohol consumption. I hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You think about her all the time. She fills your head like the sweetest song. You hate that she is always there but the minute she leaves you, you feel empty. If her smile, just like the sun, is not playing on repeat in your head why are you here? Perhaps you were made to love Penelope Garcia. You know she is just like the sun, her never-ending warmth, the way her sole presence makes you feel like a new person. Like the way you think you need her to survive. Who are you without her? Her eyes are blue like the sky in the prettiest painting. Although you know a beauty like hers can’t be captured in a photograph or in a painting. It needs to be seen in real life. In the sun; where she shines. You are blessed every day with just the sight of her. She never fails to make you smile; she never fails to make you sob either but that is never her fault and you feel guilty for even implying it would be. Penelope has no faults, anything one might consider a flaw is part of the artwork. As if, an imperfect star is not just as gorgeous as the perfect ones. As if they do not shine as brightly. Maybe you like the imperfect star more than the perfect ones. You were never perfect, but your imperfection is different than hers, yours is a splotch of dark black on a portrait of what could have been something good, but is not. The two of you contrast like the sun does the deep dark night. Except the night is beautiful. Except the night is loved. </p><p>From the moment you joined the team, there has been a spotlight on her. Like even the fluorescent lights know that she is to be looked at, admired, she smiled warmly at you in a time where all you got was hard lines from a man who did not want you on his team. She was your liferaft. Still is you suppose. Although now you are drowning in her. A bee in honey, sweet but deadly. </p><p>You came from lies and deceit, of false love confessions and a persona of nonchalant that wasn’t really you. She gently peeled you of your layers as if it mattered to her who you were underneath them. The calm after your storm. She is now your storm. </p><p>You weren’t always in love with her though. There was a time when you thought of her as the closest friend you had. The person you would complain about your love life to while you watched bad movies. About how desperately you wanted to love and be loved. You told her all your secrets then, before your secrets would cost you everything. She’s your everything after all. Even if you know that you are replaceable. A friend of convenience, temporary. She does not share her secrets with you. Before, you thought it was because she didn’t have any to give out like fragile acceptance letters, now, now you know it is because you are not welcome in her garden. She does not trust you with the things that matter. <strike>you don’t matter to her</strike> Oh but she was never anything but kind. Kind in the way only she is. In the way that you feel it in your bones, feel the goodness in hers. You wish you could resent her for all the things she’s not. </p><p>She greets you when she comes in the morning, almost like she knows she brightens your day more than the real sun ever could. You know she is not like you, she does not long at night for a pretty girl to slow dance in the kitchen with, she does need to, she has one. And she is not you, will never be you. Your mother always told you that you broke pretty things. <em> This is why we can’t have nice things, Emily </em>. Today she brings you tea and kisses you on the cheek. You can’t tell if you love or despise her love of affection. You can pretend, just for a second like it means more than it is. Like she does not have someone to come home to. Your home is empty but your heart is full of love for someone who will never want you. Not like that. But you think, without it, you’d wilt like a flower. Just like a flower needs the sun to survive you need her. For her to tell you she loves you, and pretend she doesn’t say the same to Rossi, for her to call you tall, dark, and beautiful. She is beautiful. So beautiful, you feel guilty for bothering her with your presence. She deserves only artwork to look at. Penelope is crystal clear and you are blurry, fading into the background like the rest of the rejected compositions.</p><p>She flirts with Morgan like it’s her job. You wish you had the confidence to do it. Although, you’re not sure you could play it as a joke as he does. The cia does not tell you how to flirt jokingly with the love of your life. Especially when you are not the love of hers. </p><p>You tell her once.<em> I love you, Penelope Garcia </em> . You were so proud of yourself for once, it was phrased like a joke and you both knew that, but you hope she knew that you meant it. <em> Get in line </em>, she had said. The next day she introduced everyone to Hazel. She looked at Penelope the way you imagine you do. Like she hangs the very stars in the sky. Like she is the sun. Like she deserves to have poetry written about her. </p><p>Things you and Hazel have in common: black hair, brown eyes, a love for classic movies. Being in love with Penelope Garcia.</p><p>Things she has that you don’t: being loved by Penelope Garcia. </p><p>Then Ian Doyle happens again and there is no longer as much time to think about how Penelope is filled with stardust. It is survival and you must make it out of this alive. If not for yourself than for the person you've given yourself to without them knowing. It happens slowly, the pulling away. You tell yourself it's for the better. Like they wouldn’t even notice. And why would they? Who are you compared to them? Compared to her? She shines too brightly for your darkness to be noticed. Sometimes they ask questions though, an attempt to appear as though they care about the ruckus in your brain. Like you aren’t collapsing into yourself. It’s a shame you popped your liferaft. At least this time you are drowning in your own tears. You say goodbye to them all without them knowing. Slipping away into your own darkness in order to kill the man who ruined everything. You know she’d be ashamed if she knew what you had done back then, if she knew what you were going to do.</p><p>Your mission fails and of course, it does. You try again though, you try to stop the tears from marking your face. As if the water would smear the paint on the canvas. Ruin the good parts of the portrait, smear the black more than it already was. Both fail. You only know about one of them so far. She calls you. Unexpectedly. You are surprised that they cared enough about you to try to bring you home. As if you mattered to them. You don’t, but the sentiment is nice you suppose. Penelope is calling because at least one of them has to have noticed the way you stare at her. Like she holds all the secrets to the universe. She sobs into the phone, her tears mix with yours and maybe you are both drowning now. Your own fault though. She begs you to call her, to come home. She doesn’t know that the only home you have is her, and you can’t have her. </p><p>Ian Doyle shoves wood in your stomach and you realize that maybe this is it. You’ve finally gotten yourself killed. It took longer than you thought it would have. As you close your eyes you picture her, in all the seasons and at all the times of the day. Like a collection of memories you could have had. Her eyes glimmer in the moonlight and her freckles show up in the sun, the seasons seem to kiss her as much as you would have liked to. Morgan is calling your name but you only see black, he is too late and you both know it. </p><p>Much to your dismay, you survive. You are brought to Paris as you are brought to your youth. Important decisions made for you without you, just like your mother did. You are dead now but you are alive in your head. Your heart aches with everything that has transpired. You are alone in a city that was once your home and now is your exile. Punishment for the sins you have committed. </p><p>Eventually, you heal. If you call your heart being covered in scar tissue, and your abdomen aching when it rains, healed. If you call your mind conjuring up all that has happened at night, like your own personal horror movie, healed. </p><p>You come back. Not because they want you, no that would be a foolish presumption and you stopped being foolish a long time ago. No, you come back because they need you, you are only as good as your worth to other people. </p><p>You had forgotten what it felt like to set your eyes on her. She is both brighter and dimmer than you remember. Brighter because you had been living in darkness and now she is <em> here </em>. Darker because she looks like she’s been to hell and back and survived. You wonder what happened to her to make her look haunted by the world. You miss a lot when you’re dead. You wish you could have saved her from the cruelty of the universe but frankly, you can’t even save yourself. </p><p>You are back but you are not home. Before you could pretend that this place felt warm and safe but now it is too icy and you are afraid you will slip. They treat you at arms ends. You know they have too. It’s too hard to welcome death in an embrace. They mourned you and now you are here and they don’t quite know what to do with the space that they gave you. What do you do with your grief for a person who is alive in front of you? What do you do with the space you gave them, hollowed out of your heart in order to keep them safe? They grieved a you that died, she is different than the alive version of you in front of them and you all know it. Even Penelope knows it. Maybe she’d like this version of you better but you don’t even like it. How can she love a you that wishes she hadn’t been resurrected. </p><p>It is too hard to watch her be happy without you. To watch all of them be happy without you. Sometimes you are there with them laughing but it feels like you no longer understand their jokes. Sometimes, sometimes you laugh just so they feel pleased with you. A performance art of how to get people to love you. A mask so the intruder can pretend like they belong. You do not belong.</p><p>You leave.</p><p>They seem sad to watch you go but you know it is for your own benefit rather than their actual feelings. An elite fbi team does not mourn for sinners. You walk around the wedding of your best friend joyless. It is a cause for celebration but you feel like celebration is wasted on you. You watch Penelope and Hazel sway slowly. They look more in love than anyone you’ve ever seen. You would say it feels like being stabbed in the stomach but you’ve experienced that and you can say with certainty that it is worse. You can not distract yourself from your own mind. It is there to taunt you and your shortcomings. She looks beautiful, the moon shines on her like it was made to. Sculpted by the gods to illuminate her face in the most perfect way. To be reflected in her eyes as she stares at it in wonder. </p><p>You leave.</p><p>This time it was your choice. It does not make it easier to stomach the loss. Loss of her. It is better now that you can’t see her. You can control your day dreams better now. Sculpt her like modeling chocolate to fit your daydreams in which she loves you. The real Penelope does not love you, but this one does. It’s oh so nice to be loved you think. Even if you know it's not real. Sometimes, joy must be made and not found. If you waited for the world to reward you you would be waiting for your whole lifetime. Hair turning gray, the earth decaying around you like a wasteland. The sun being your only companion, steadfast in its warmth. The sun will not abandon you. It is too bad you can not find comfort in that because you have compared her to the sun. She can not be your savior and damn you all at once. She does, but she shouldn’t. </p><p>Your job is good. It is a lot, you understand the creases on Hotch’s face now. You try to be warm to your subordinates, to the new member. To be the liferaft for them because you know what it’s like to receive only stone-cold faces as you try to save the world, its weight on your shoulders too much to bear. It does not work though, all your heroic deeds did not make you lighter. Did not make it easier to breathe. You choke on air like it forced its way down your throat. You only hope that they do not hate you. </p><p>All good things must come to an end you think. Hotch calls you, tells you your friend has been kidnapped. You wonder for a fleeting moment if he was as concerned for you as he appears to be for JJ. It’s a stupid thought. Of course, he wasn’t. JJ was taken, you ran. Your mother was right when she called you a coward. Maybe you wanted to make her proud in the only way you knew how, expected disappointment. </p><p>The plane ride is quiet. You miss the quiet banter of the team you were on. The way card games felt like silent apologies and reaching out for support. How looking out the window was a resigned cry for help. The way you made a home in the small area of the jet. You wonder who took your spot. Who laughs with the team better than you ever could. </p><p>It goes by as fast as a jackrabbit and as slow as molasses. You find her, and she is broken but she is as strong as ever. You wish you had her strength, and all her traits that make her lovable. Against all better judgment, all of you go to a bar to reminisce about the past and try to forget the present. You meet Blake. She is ten times the woman you will ever be and you envy her in ways that make you sick. The night goes on and you lose yourself in your drink. The liquid is your solace from everything around you. You might have drunk too much but who cares it’s you we’re talking about. The crowd dwindles down, JJ and Will going home to heal together, Hotch to his son, Blake to her husband. They all have families to go home to. Morgan drives Reid home and suddenly it is just you and the woman you still pine for even after all this time. She is more refined than you, her poison for fun and not for release. The conversation flows as it does in your daydreams. Your mind is too far gone to overthink all your words, you’ll regret that. She asks about London, saying she’s always wanted to go. She almost came and visited you once but thought better about being in your company. You describe it best you can. You live there but you spend it all in your office or your apartment. You live there, but it is not your home. She is still your home and you now wish you could be evicted. It is hard to pine across the country but you manage in perfect struggle. </p><p><em> So, got any London lovers across the pond?  </em> She asks about your love life in a phony British accent. It has no right to make you fall more for her, she asks like she doesn’t know the only life you love is hers. </p><p><em> Penelope, it’s always been you. </em>You take a long sip of your drink like that will make Penelope’s mouth close, it’s dropped open from the shock of your well kept obvious secret. </p><p>
  <em> Emily, I- </em>
</p><p><em> I know I know, you have Hazel. </em> A small sad smile graces your lips, you want her to be loved more than you want to breathe. It’s good enough that she is being loved, even if it’s not you that’s doing the loving. <em> I’m happy for you. I wish I could move on, I really do but, but it feels like some part of me will always love you, you know? Like some part of me is always hoping that one day you’ll wake up and love me a fraction of the amount I love you.  </em></p><p><em> I’m sorry Emily. But I, I can’t give you what you want. </em>She leaves a 20 dollar bill on the counter and leaves the bar. You wish you could say your feelings left with her. Once again you feel raw and broken at the sight of her, even as she leaves you to fall apart. Once again, you wish you could hate her for all the things is she not. She is not in love with you.  A tear falls into your drink like the first drop of rain before the downpour.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! Consider leaving a comment if you enjoyed. Have a good night/afternoon/morning and drink some water.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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